Nobody ever questioned Aretha’s talent – certainly in its prime, it was beyond reproach.  But one rarely heard of a fun-loving Aretha who loved people.  She wasn’t that kinda diva.  It takes a special skill to come off badly in your own autobiography, but Auntie Ree did it in Aretha: From These Roots.  As with everything, she lived on her own terms.  PETA didn’t like that she wore furs?  She started wearing them onstage.  People criticized her weight?  She wore dresses with spaghetti straps (which must have been made of airplane wire).  A personal shopper informed her that purple was the only color that didn’t suit her?  She showed up at the next concert in purple.  People gossiped about her skipping Whitney’s funeral?  She sent a largely incoherent and endless fax to the press saying nothing that defended herself and fueled a feud with Dionne.  She was always Aretha – spaghetti-strap, fur-wearing, purple, petty Aretha.  But when she strolled onstage and plopped her purse on the piano (she reportedly didn’t trust anyone backstage), it was magic.  The queen is dead – long live the queen.